


signs for people who understand

by literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte



Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Force Sensitivity, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12980319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte/pseuds/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte
Summary: Lyra survives. Ahsoka finds her. The Force is with them.In the creation of the heavens and the earth; in the alternation of night and day; in the ships that sail the oceans for the benefit of mankind; in the water that God sends down from the sky, and revives the earth with it after it had died, and scatters in it all kinds of creatures; in the changing of the winds, and the clouds disposed between the sky and the earth; are signs for people who understand.





	signs for people who understand

The wind changes, and the waves of heat against her face wake her up. Lyra instinctively reaches for her scarf, to cover her nose and mouth, but pain shoots through her body. She looks down to see her shaking fingers covered in blood.

“Jyn,” she calls out. Her voice is hoarse, the way it is high up in the mountains after a long hike. “Galen... Jyn...”

As she lays in the grass, trying to control her breathing, she mentally goes through her escape routes. Nothing happens to her that she is not prepared for.

There are hidden bunkers in the hills, secret caches with water recyclers, canned food, and warm beds where she can recuperate. She has little medical training, but if she can reach one of the bunkers, she can send out a distress signal and take care of herself until help arrives.

Above her the sky is painted grey by the brushstrokes of smoke as the past four years of her life burn.

Jyn’s dolls. Galen’s complex diagrams of inconsequential research, to occupy his mind between harvests. Her volumes on the Force that she read by candlelight, when Jyn was asleep. Storybooks about the Jedi filled with vibrant illustrations that were simpler for Jyn to understand. The bed she and Galen made love on, let Jyn crawl between them when she couldn't sleep, held each other and whispered at night of this inevitable day.

She watches the fire rear up like an animal on its hind legs and kick in the roof of her home. Just like that - gone. Gone as suddenly as the apartment on Coruscant, where she had to leave behind Jyn’s baby pictures and crib.

She turns her face away from the smoke, and the flames flicker beneath her eyelids like primordial light on cave walls. She hopes, in the back of her mind, that it won't spread and damage the environment, and then she passes out again. 

At the edge of the Erso homestead, the grass bows to the arriving ship.

*****

“Are you alright?”

Lyra blinks. She’s stretched out on a cot, with her sash on the pillow beside her. She can hear and feel the hum of hyperspace around her. An unfamiliar Tortuga face hovers over her with a look of concern. She doesn't look like an Imperial, and Lyra doesn't appear to be under arrest. A medical droid waits in the corner, presumably the one who patched her up.

“I'm...”

“You don't have to talk if it hurts,” the Tortuga reassures her. “I'll let you rest.”

She feels only an impression of the white-hot pain from before when she reaches for the Tortuga’s arm, but it's still enough to make her wince.

Lyra croaks, “Is he dead?”

“What? Who?”

“Krennic. Tell me. Is he dead?”

Saw Gerrera’s voice echoes in her head, telling her to always be vigilant, but the way the Tortuga’s eyes harden at the mention of Krennic’s name makes Lyra want to trust her.

“No,” the Tortuga says. “Unfortunately. He is still alive.”

“Galen?”

“He was... You're Lyra Erso, aren't you? His wife?”

“Yes, now please - where is my husband?”

“I'm sorry. Krennic took him.”

“And Jyn? Did Jyn escape?”

“You shouldn't be moving - “

“My daughter, I need to know that she's safe - where is she? Where's my Jyn?”

“I don't know. Isn't that the point? The less people who know, the less likely she's in danger.”

Lyra lets her arm drop. The Tortuga rubs the place where she dug her fingernails in; Lyra didn't realize she was holding onto her so hard.

“I'm sorry,” she says. “I just - I’ve never been apart from them like this. I haven't been alone in so long.”

“You don't have to apologize. I understand.”

“Who are you? You know who I am, but I don't know who you are.”

“Fulcrum. Call me Fulcrum.”

“Thank you, Fulcrum. For saving me. This is a rescue, right?” She laughs a little and winces again. “Did Saw Gerrera send you?”

The question catches Fulcrum off guard. “No, no one sent me. I heard you, through the Force. Didn't you call for help?”

Lyra looks just as confused as her. “I'm no Jedi.”

“Neither am I.”

“But you can use the Force?”

Fulcrum observes her. Lyra senses Fulcrum’s perception of her has subtlety changed, and she struggles to understand why.

“So can you,” Fulcrum says.

Lyra doesn’t refute her. Instead, she turns the subject back to her family. “Jyn should be alright. She’s a smart little girl, and I trust Gerrera.”

“You’ve mentioned him twice now.”

“I’m not a rebel, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’ve only ever tried to escape the war.”

“It looks like the war found you.”

Lyra gives her a tight smile. “Yes. It does.”

“Maybe it’s time you did something about it.”

“You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve done and what I haven’t done.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.” Fulcrum leans forward and says, “Your sash. I’ve seen it before. You’re no Jedi, yet you believe in the Force?”

“That’s the meaning behind the Church of the Force. It’s for those who can’t use it, but believe in it anyway.”

“What makes you believe in the Force?”

Lyra looks at her, unblinking. “Because I’ve felt it.”

“What do you mean, felt it?” Fulcrum gestures with her hands as she speaks. “You’ve underestimated yourself, Lyra. You might not be a trained Jedi, but that doesn’t mean you can’t serve the light side. Look - my real name is Ahsoka. Fulcrum is my code name. I shouldn’t tell you that, but I trust you. Do you know why I trust you? Because I can feel it in the Force.”

“Ahsoka,” Lyra says, “I think I’d like to rest now, if you don’t mind.”

Ahsoka bows her head. “Of course. We can talk more later.”

When Ahsoka is gone, Lyra lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. Her head is spinning, and it’s not because of the painkillers. She settles into her cot and closes her eyes.

The future extends in front of her, as vast and mysterious as the Unknown Regions. Lyra turns the possibilities over in her mind like a geode extracted from the earth. She’ll have to make contact with Gerrera so she can be reunited with her daughter. Then they can strategize together and devise a plan to save Galen. Maybe this Fulcrum, or Ahsoka, can help.

A dark passenger enters her train of thought. What if Galen can’t be saved? As much as the idea of it hurts, she knows she could survive. She was willing to die to stop Krennic, but she survived. She’s always survived.

As she drifts out of consciousness, she thinks of what Ahsoka said. She accepted years and years ago, when the Jedi never came for her as a child, that she was not Force-sensitive. If Ahsoka is right, it would drastically change her life, more so than it already has been changed today.

Maybe it is time she fought back.


End file.
